#Manlove (Gearshark #8)

Chapter 1

Drew

A cloud of dust hung in our wake and small rocks dinged the undercarriage as the Fastback went from zero to sixty in impressively quick time. The back end fishtailed a bit, and the knuckles of the hands wrapped around the steering wheel turned white, ready to strong-arm her back in line.

From the driver’s seat, Trav darted a glance in my direction, and I grinned. “Faster!”

With a whoop, he dropped a hand onto the gearshift and punched it forward, the rumble of the engine deepening in response. We flew over the dirt road, wind whipping through the open windows tugging at our hair and clothes as the scent of dirt and gasoline filled the air.

God, I love this.

And even though we were flying down the road, going definitely faster than I should allow, time seemed to slow.

As everything around us blurred out of focus, I lived in a moment of perfect clarity.

And in the center was my son. Jaw set in determination, ring-covered fingers gripping the wheel as black strands of hair blew everywhere.

Even with black aviators shading his eyes, I knew without a doubt those onyx orbs were narrowed as he scrutinized the road ahead.

I was no longer the only adrenaline junkie in this family. It was a title I now shared with my son.

God, I love this kid.

Feeling my attention, he turned his face, and our eyes connected. The corner of his mouth tilted up before he turned back to refocus.

Up ahead, the road curved, and I patted on the dashboard, pointing. “Remember what I told you,” I yelled over the engine and blowing wind.

He nodded once.

My pulse hammered with anticipation as I grabbed the door handle to hang on.

Travis downshifted, and even though the Mustang slowed, my heart rate didn’t.

Just when I thought he overshot, Travis flicked the wheel, pulled the e-brake, and then pumped the clutch to destabilize the back wheels. The car started to slide.

“Increase the throttle,” I hollered. Then, “Back off just a little.”

The car drifted around the turn, arching almost perfectly. I felt Trav lighten up on the gas pedal—a natural instinct but not the right move.

“Keep that foot down.” I reminded him, and he pushed down, the car finishing out the drift perfectly.

Pride filled my chest when he flicked the wheel in the opposite direction, let off the gas at the exact right moment, and shot forward.

Hollering, I dropped my arm out of the window to slap on the door. “Fucking right!” I roared.

Trav’s face transformed into a wide grin, and I knew another slowed-down moment of clarity. The joy on his face and sense of accomplishment filling the cab were something I wanted to remember forever.

I grabbed my phone and snapped a pic for Trent, wanting to share it with him.

In true dramatic fashion, Trav hit the brakes and spun in a three-sixty before coming to a complete stop in the center of a dust cloud. I coughed and waved away some of the polluted air, pushing my hair off my forehead.

“Well?” Trav asked, looking at me for approval.

“You sure like waiting to the very last second,” I joked.

He smirked as though he did it on purpose, which he probably did.

Laughing under my breath, I palmed his shoulder. “That was your best drift yet,” I said. “You’re a damn good driver, son.”

“Good enough for my own car?”

I groaned. This kid had been working on Trent and me for his own car since he was fourteen.

Did you hear me say fourteen?

Probably why I was starting to see some silver in my scruff. Wasn’t at all because I was now in my forties. It was these kids for sure.

Obviously, we told him no.

So he took one of the four-wheelers out one day when we weren’t looking and crashed it into a tree about a mile from the house.

It didn’t matter that he jumped off before the crash. Or that his injuries were minor. When he limped into the house, bloodied and bruised, I nearly lost my shit.

Thank God Trent was there. The man had a backbone made of steel. Even though I saw the ghosts from my accident nearly twelve years before haunting his eyes, he acted like they weren’t there as he took control of the situation and protected me from the PTSD threatening to take over.

Actually, pretty sure he sucked it right out of me with a mind-numbing blow job.

Yep, I still loved a good blow job.

Trav got grounded. He also had to pay for all the parts to fix the quad, which he earned by doing chores for his aunts.

Once he made enough for the new parts, he had to help fix it.

Though, it didn’t deter him from wanting to drive.

If anything, it made him more eager. He liked being under the hood with an engine just as much as he liked being behind the wheel.

We decided it was best for me to teach him how to handle a car because at least then he’d have skills to protect himself and wouldn’t be out trying to teach himself and crashing into shit.

Now here we were, a week shy of his seventeenth birthday. Well, maybe lessons on drifting weren’t necessary, but it sure as hell was fun.

Travis was a natural driver, better than I was at that age.

‘Course, maybe if my dad had taken an interest in my love for driving back then, I would have been. But we don’t need to talk about that.

“I did see an ad for a nice four-cylinder Honda the other day,” I mused.

Travis gave me a cut the shit look—did I mention teenagers have attitude for daysss?—and curled his lip. “I could run faster than a four-cylinder.”

“Maybe you should quit football and join the track team,” I cracked.

He didn’t think it was funny. “Dad.”

I laughed at his insufferable tone.

“It was brand new.” I defended the Honda.

“Even worse,” he spat. “It probably has all that driving assist shit.”

“Watch your mouth,” I warned.

Look, just because I dropped an F-bomb back there in the heat of the moment doesn’t mean we let our kids cuss.

He rolled his eyes.

I had to resist rolling mine back.

“I don’t want a car that drives me. I want to be the one in control.”

I respected it. I even thought it was smart.

In my humble opinion, modern cars didn’t require as much skill because they had lane assist, parking assist, hands-free driving, etc.

And yeah, the safety features were great, and it was good for kids new to driving.

Hell, really anyone who couldn’t drive for shit, which was eighty percent of the people on the road.

But.

If we let cars do everything, then how were they supposed to learn?

Hell, they don’t even teach cursive in schools these days.

Kids see cursive now and act like it’s a foreign language.

I had to teach my son how to sign his name.

And there’s this app where you take a photo of your math homework and it does it for you.

What kind of BS is that? I would have loved that shit when I was in high school, but I’m not in high school. I’m a parent. I got to make sure my kid knows how to survive.

I let him use that math app, though. Since when do you need advanced algebra to survive?

Exactly. You don’t.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Need I remind you of the quad incident?”

Travis made a rude sound. “That was three years ago.”

“Two and a half.” I corrected him.

“I’m a way better driver now. I’ve had my license for over a year.”

Some of that was a learner’s permit, but I didn’t bother pointing it out. To him, it was all the same. Instead, I said, “Having your own car is a lot of responsibility.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, reaching for the ignition.

“Hey,” I said, leaning over to grasp his arm.

He shook me off.

“Travis,” I said in a much firmer tone, my hand going back to his arm.

“What?” he answered, impatient.

“You know what.”

He said nothing.

“Son.”

He blew out a breath. “Don’t drive angry.” He repeated what I’d told him many times before. He glanced at me, then away. “It clouds your judgment and makes you do stupid things.”

“Just like drinking and driving,” I added.

He rolled his eyes. “I know.”

I deserved it, but I gotta be his dad, not his friend. Even though I really wanted to be his friend. My son was hella cool.

“We know you want your own car. We just want to make sure you’re ready. We want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe, Dad.” He met my eyes. “I swear.”

A lump formed in my throat. It felt like just yesterday he called me Dad for the first time, and now I was teaching him to drive and trying to hold on to him just a little longer. I was good with speed, but damn, time went by too fast.

“How about you drive us up to the main house?” I said, motioning to the dirt track Trent and I made deep in the property on our family compound.

It was originally for the ATVs, but it turned out it was also great for all the up-and-coming teens in this fam learning to drive.

“If we’re late for pancake Sunday, you won’t need a car because your aunts will murder us,” I joked.

Trav drove us across the compound until the dirt road met the paved one and the main house came into view.

He didn’t drive fast or do any stunts, and he used his turn signal every time even though we were the only car out here.

I knew he was showing me he was a good driver and capable of being responsible.

My head already knew he was ready. My heart, though…

In my heart, he was still a little boy running around with my phone, catching Pokémon.

Trent was standing on the wide steps of the front porch when Travis pulled up. My eyes went to him immediately, the tension coiling inside me loosening at just the sight of him.